


Ash and Stone

by ablindromance



Category: Castlevania (Animated Series), Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Animated Series, Experimental Sexuality - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Self-Flagellation, internalized homophobia?, netflix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablindromance/pseuds/ablindromance
Summary: The characters and images in this work are exclusively the property of their original creators and Netflix. I do not own them.This piece of fiction was inspired by the image above.
Relationships: Isaac/Hector (Castlevania)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Ash and Stone

A bitter winter wind clawed at Isaac's back as he crossed one of the many walkways linking the towers of Dracula's castle. The mobile fortress used to be a labyrinth, but the authority his master bestowed upon him allowed him to learn the secret passageways inside it. This particular route was one he traveled many times within the year in Dracula's service. He emerged from his tower in the east wing -- the one closest to his master -- and walked under disused portcullises. Long, long ago, they kept intruders out, but no soul in recent years dared to lay siege to this hellish castle.Now they were just iron adornments that dropped handfuls of snow onto Isaac's shoulders as he passed beneath them.

A brush of his hand swept the icy clumps onto the ground before he entered a glorious hallway of stone. He couldn't say with certainty that he liked snow. It was white, cold, and temporary, much like the skin of his first master after he'd taken his life. That dark memory was a small comfort because it reminded him of his view of humanity: a cold and temporary thing.

The warmth of the walls around him ushered away the chill that clung to his clothes. Before Dracula plucked him from a life of abuse and savagery, the magnificent architecture was like nothing he'd ever seen. Grand pillars and archways stretched throughout the castle. Libraries of countless books encouraged Isaac to further pursue the knowledge he was punished for obtaining. Besides the luxuries of warm food, soft bedding, and worldly knowledge at his fingertips, the most satisfying things Isaac received were freedom and trust. Simple as they were, both inspired an undying loyalty to Dracula in return. Against the backdrop of delicate ceramics and tiled floors, Isaac was set apart by his crudeness. He was like a great stone: hard, unmoved, rarely receiving and never believing in the warmth of humans. Kindness always had some ulterior motive, after all. Dracula, however, respected him-- appreciated him-- for who he was, and that was enough. He would remain this way until the completion of his master’s plans erased him.

The glowing lanterns above threw his long shadow behind him as he descended to the belly of the castle. His personal laboratory was here, but it was not his destination. Instead Isaac headed two chambers over, where he often heard the ring of Hector’s hammer long into the night. At the final step of the stairwell, there was no azure glow creeping toward it this evening. Isaac entered, arms solemnly folded behind his back, and paused to watch Hector. His shoulder dipped as he wiped his altar-- if one could call it that. The only sound about them was the crackle of wood in the fireplace and the lively click of bone as Cezar’s skeletal paw trotted around Hector’s feet.

“What are you so excited about, mm?” Hector spoke to the dog softly, almost as if he expected it to answer back. He laughed under his breath, apologizing. “Sorry, boy, no bones for you today.”

“Perhaps he is surprised to see your altar clean,” Isaac said, stepping into the pale glow of the moonlight from the high windows on the opposite wall. The darkness cast shadows upon his face and his black tunic was one with the rest of it. “It is a rare sight to see it vacant these days.”

Not startled by the feline silence with which Isaac entered, Hector dried his fingertips on the damp cloth and set it aside on the stone behind him. He had nothing to fear, for his visitors were only Isaac and dead or dying night creatures. The other vampires never dared to pace these halls and earn Dracula’s ire by harassing his generals. A thin smile spread over his lips as he leaned against the flat surface, finally lowering a hand to brush a patch of fur on Cezar’s skull. The hollow panting of the dog clinging to his leg filled the room for a moment before Hector spoke over it.

“Yes, well. A forgemaster’s work is never done, is it?” he offered with a bitter smile.

“Indeed,” Isaac calmly returned. His boots slowly followed the edge of a golden ring etched in the floor around the raised structure, and he breathed in the scent of the room. The smell of blood and iron had a permanence to them not worn away by time. There was also the clean smell of water, the hazy smell of burning wood from fireplaces throughout the castle, and the bitter smell of...wine. Isaac stopped before the long windowsill and glanced down at it, now finding that he had put himself between the other general and an almost emptied bottle of aged red wine. Isaac himself did not drink, and he looked upon the impure liquid with disinterest.

Being men of great intelligence and few words until necessary, they were content to stand in silence in a shared space. To call each other ‘friend,’ was a stretch; ‘colleagues with paralleled goals’ seemed more fitting. Despite that, the grey-haired forgemaster would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the other’s company. It ironically filled the small gap of tolerance he had for humans.

That tolerance made Hector a contradiction. He disliked humans for their cruelty and lack of love toward him all his life, yet he maintained an odd compassion for them. In his mind, they were just ill-behaved pets that needed to be contained, controlled, and mercifully culled. His stunted emotional growth was his weakness. Dracula saw it. Isaac saw it, too, and perhaps even more clearly than his master because he was also human. In that small amount of pity he had for human beings, Hector was like ash from a great fire. Ash was light, easily swept up and manipulated into a direction with a strong enough wind. At first glance, it was little more than the harmless remnants of what _used_ to be something.

But enough of those feather-light cinders could rise up and block out the sun, cover the world, and choke the Earth.

A dangerous force, indeed. Dracula recognized that raw potential in the boy cowering inside a man’s body. A poor, pitiful, _powerful_ boy… Hector was weak, and yet he was strong.

“A council of generals will be held tomorrow, but I’m sure you already know that,” he spoke, eager to fill the room with more than silence. Reaching into the back pocket of his trousers, Hector produced a small twig and tossed it toward the entrance for Cezar to chase. Dead or alive, intelligent or dim, a dog was still a dog.

“I do. The children are getting restless. It is only natural for our lord Dracula to gather them,” Isaac paused, dark eyes scanning the spines of books along the windowsill. “--correct them for their impatience.” he added.

Hector laughed dryly, one hand running through his moon-kissed hair from forehead to crown. “‘Children...’,” he reaffirmed, reminded of the unsavory fates of those snatched from their beds by his creatures. “I suppose Lord Dracula will be making bigger moves soon. I can’t believe it’s already been over a year since he came to us for aid. Time flies…” he trailed off, more to himself than anything. The forgemaster looked up to a newly-filled glass of wine offered to him. He was thankful because suddenly, he really needed it.

“When a man pours all of himself into his work, time does not matter. Only completion of the objective matters.” Isaac’s tone was as matter-of-fact as it always was. He wasn’t one for pleasantries. To him, the time since he arrived in the castle up until now was a blur.

Hector preceded his arrival by a few months and, dare he be mistaken, was _welcoming_ to him upon their meeting. They never talked much about their pasts, though, because there was no need. Sparse conversations implied that Isaac was two years Hector’s senior and originated from Africa, while the younger man was orphaned and later discovered in Greece. The latter was extraordinarily gifted in necromancy since childhood; the former had an amazing ability to learn, adapt, and apply principles he gathered from his readings. They complemented each other’s skills and became the formidable devil-forgers they were now. Still, Isaac kept a thin wall between them.

Swirling his wine into a dark torrent inside the glass, Hector lifted it to his lips and took a long, warming drink. His time living in Rhodes developed his taste for alcohol, but the soft flush of his cheeks proved that just for tonight, he allowed himself to reach the highest point of his tolerance. A drunken general would not be tolerated in these critical times of genocide.

“Ah. Right, right,” he agreed. “I have to admit, Isaac… Your skills are impressive. They were admirable since the first day you arrived here. You already knew so much-- and it took you hardly any time at all to learn anything that you didn’t know.” Hector looked up at Isaac’s taller form and crossed his feet at the ankles. Praise was not something they exchanged with one another. He recognized as much and recanted his statement with another relaxed chuckle. “Sorry, must be the wine talking.” And he downed the rest of the glass in two mouthfuls.

Isaac studied him, arms still folded neatly at the small of his back. As he observed the younger man, he seemed to be searching, or looking right through him. Hector couldn’t tell the difference between that or any other glance. The only thing they both knew to be true was that they were of mortal flesh and bone, and instrumental in the punishment of all the other humans in the world.

“I have learned many things from you,” Isaac began. “And for that, I should thank you.”

“You what?” Hector laughed. A shake of his head and a dismissing wave of his hand preceded the gentle placement of his empty glass beside him. “You knew as much as I did, if not more. You’ve only yourself to thank.”

“What we do is thankless work. ...It is holy,” he corrected, dark eyes sweeping to the dancing flames in the fireplace. He could see the open doors of Hell inside of them, and he held one of the sacred keys that unlocked them.

Hector watched the orange glow of the embers flicker across Isaac’s face and somehow, the forgemaster became much more terrifying. His eyes burned like the fires while Hector’s reflected them. The many evenings he stared into the hearth showed him the same vision of Hell’s doors, but what lay on the other side of them simply wasn't his concern. Absently speaking into the night, he folded his arms over his chest and watched a few bits of ash scatter onto the hearth slab.

“Mm. I thought there would be rewards for holy work. --For devotion. That’s what the Bible always said,” he scoffed. In truth, he found such promises to be a joke.

“You have food to eat. You have the freedom to keep your pets.” Issac turned an arresting look toward Hector. “You have wine to indulge in,” he accused.

Hector felt like he was being scolded and conceded with a faint smile.

“Excellent wine, at that. Relax, Isaac. That wasn’t a complaint,” he reassured. He seriously doubted the wall of stone before him ever told a joke, much less laughed at one even if he recognized one. “Besides the obvious, what is it you get out of all this?”

“Such a question.” Isaac stalled, uninterested in answering because his personal desires didn’t matter. He allowed a short silence to linger and bait Hector’s curiosity before responding. “My reward is fulfilling Lord Dracula’s intent.”

As he stood there, he carefully watched how Hector received his answer. The younger forgemaster gave a minute arch of his brow in acceptance and let it fall just as quickly. He anticipated that kind of response because it was typical of Isaac’s character. It wasn’t anything new that he could chew upon.

“Of course,” he sighed, again distracted by the fire. _Ever the loyal soldier_ , Hector thought. There was nothing wrong with that. It was admirable. Though he was also still loyal to Dracula, Hector couldn’t help but to feel that lately there was something out of harmony with himself, Isaac, and his master. The vampire, for all the strength, intelligence, and ferocity he possessed, seemed to be losing his momentum. In no way was he any less fearsome; there was just something missing. He couldn’t dwell on it for long, for Isaac pulled him from his thoughts with a returned question.

“What else do _you_ long for?”

Hector blinked at him.

“What?” The question caught him off guard and the extra step Isaac had taken to nearly tower over him made him look up to the other. He uncrossed his arms and leaned back onto his hands to put some distance between them.

“I said, ‘What else do you long for?’” His arms fell to his sides and the blood-red sash binding Isaac’s waist became much more vibrant in color now that it was so close. The usual even tone of his voice was now tempered with intrigue. “You’ve food. Shelter. Freedom to do your work. Revenge on those who persecuted you at your fingertips. And yet, you still want.”

“Uh--” Hector stuttered, taken aback. Maybe it was the wine that slowed his mental processes. Maybe it was his own ignorance of the answer. Whichever it was, he was taken even further aback by the hand that swept from the darkness and the fingers that lifted his chin.

“The intrinsic rewards are not enough. Perhaps you crave something more physical.” As if testing the flesh for lies, Isaac’s thumb ran across the length of Hector’s lower lip and rested at the corner of his mouth. If the other could not speak his truth, then Isaac would feed him one. “Something more carnal in nature,” he offered.

The grey-haired forgemaster’s brows furrowed in confusion and he moved to turn his head out of Isaac’s grip. He didn’t know the other to possess any tenderness, much less for him. In a display of his intolerance for being made a fool of, he shot the man an incredulous look.

“No,” he replied reflexively. “At least-- I don’t think that’s it.” Hector stumbled over his words. He didn’t truly know how to respond, and the uncertainty in what he did say only made him feel insecure. “And I’ve no interest in men,” he added, stupefied.

“Neither do I.” Isaac bent to bring himself eye level with the other, one hand pressed to the cool slab on either side of Hector’s hips. Cornered animals tended to bite out of fear, so he released some of the tension in his expression and locked eyes with the man before him. “Make no mistake; we are monsters. Our needs are different from men.”

Hector stared at him in silence, bewitched by the depth of his rhetoric and the brown of his eyes.

“We eat without appetite. We kill without remorse. We are hated for what we are. We even indulge in vices on a whim,” he said with a pointed glance to the wine glass nearby. “All this, done with only answering to one authority. We are damned but we are free. Am I wrong, Hector?”

Those words seeped into his brain, heavy and viscous. Isaac was right, and what he said were facts accepted of himself long ago. He wasn’t really human anymore, but rather, something in between. His denial made ‘monster’ sound more harsh than he was willing to admit to, but his acts were nothing short of monstrous. It was a blunt, hard truth that now gripped him much like the way Isaac said his name.

“No,” he said tentatively. Pale eyes searched the space between them for answers. Or comfort. Or _anything_. Whatever he grasped for couldn’t come soon enough.

Isaac took that moment to lean in further and speak into Hector’s ear. “Then be what you are. This one night, when your hammer is silent, fulfill your needs and howl with the rest of the demons and devils. The only reward at the end of it all is death, and that will not change for humanity or for us.”

Suddenly, everything felt too suffocating-- the air, his clothes, his responsibilities. Too much thinking. Too much evidence to refute that his place in Hell was inevitable. Too much wine to care. Hector had long since turned a blind eye to the war crimes committed in reaching Dracula’s goal. He just wanted the end to be in sight so he could return to living quietly, far away from his kin that never accepted him anyway. One night to gain a piece of what he never had was something he deserved. It was his right for all the devotion he showed up until now.

Perhaps Dracula would allow him to select a soft thing with a sweet mouth from the breeder pens-- ‘Would there be breeder pens?’ he wondered. A supple breast to warm his bed and lay his head upon at night. A body of gentle curves and parted thighs beckoning him into honeyed walls for lovemaking. But.. there could never truly be any love between himself and her, could there? They-- humans-- were just livestock. The difference between his partner, or sons, or daughters wasn’t evident. Maybe there was no difference. Would Dracula even care to grant him and his family further immunity from the vampires or leave them to survive like any other animal in the wild? If he was a monster, surely a human woman could never accept him for who he was and what he’d already done. ...Right? He never completely understood Dracula’s complex mind and now barely had a grip on his own. Questions he asked himself only led to more questions and he was quickly spiraling out of control as he tried to make sense of it all. Unaware of the anxious beating of his own heart, he snapped from his trance and fixed his sights on the other forgemaster.

“Isaac.”

Giving Hector time to contemplate in silence, Isaac had righted himself and intended to leave before he heard his name. A forceful tug at the hanging end of his sash halted one of his steps, and he turned into a pair of cold hands that seized his face between them.

Hector pulled the taller man into a kiss and found that Isaac’s full lips were soft and dry in comparison to his own. They felt like fresh warm soil in spring and he desperately needed them to ground himself. As stupid and as risky as this move was, he was willing to face the consequences for the security of a warm body to make his dizzying thoughts cease. The hardened and distant man was the only constant in his life, after all. And consequences certainly came. In the lingering contact between their mouths, Issac expertly drew his dagger and pressed the sharp tip into Hector’s chest. He was not wearing his military mantle, so piercing through his cotton shirt would be effortless.

Hector’s eyes fixed on the ruby gem in its handle aligned perfectly with his sternum and pulled his hands away in surrender. Isaac took a step. Two steps. Three. Hector moved back with his progression until the backs of his thighs pressed against his altar and he had to hitch one of them onto its broad surface. Neither man spoke, but Hector was ready with an apology on his lips under Isaac’s immobilizing stare. He was unarmed, and his holy hammer was too long to swing for an efficient strike anyway.

“I’m sorry. I--” Hector paused, surprised as the blade rotated and the handle was offered to him instead. Unsure, he cast his eyes up at Isaac and long, hesitant fingers curled around it. He had touched this tool only once before and was instantly reminded of its light weight and ease of wielding. With the dagger securely in his grip, he felt Isaac release it completely and the weight of its tip pointed toward its owner’s stomach. Antagonisms reversed, it would take Hector no effort to drive it into Isaac’s body and gut him right then if he wished. He felt as if the other was willingly giving him the opportunity to do so. The power was his, but he did not act. In the span of seconds that felt like an eternity, the dagger was moved from between them as Isaac descended upon him.

Warmth met cold as Isaac’s mouth pressed into Hector’s with no small amount of pressure. Initial contact was testing, both men anticipating who would pull away and reject the other. A passing of breath between them saw not rejection but acceptance of the act, and Hector parted his lips first in invitation. Isaac’s warm tongue slithered between the pillowy mounds of flesh and sank deep into the recesses of the other’s mouth. He was driven deeper still when Hector swung an arm around his neck and pulled him closer, occupied hand falling to the altar with a soft clink of metal against stone.

Hector was afraid to hear the sound of his own voice because it would make all of this very real. Too real. But he couldn’t help himself when the stroke of Isaac’s tongue against the roof of his mouth made him shudder aloud. The feel of another man’s lips was different, but it wasn’t as repulsive as he anticipated. Isaac gave him the forcefulness and urgency that he withheld from the fairer sex, and he could return everything without the fear of breaking him. Hand finally releasing the dagger, he gave all of his attention to the other forgemaster and grabbed at his shoulder for purchase.

Methodical in his movements, Isaac cupped Hector’s face between his large, calloused hands and guided his head to better fit their mouths together. While Hector was frantic with desire, he was patient and coaxed him into following his lead. After his lower lip was clumsily bitten, he burrowed his long fingers into the thick, soft strands of grey hair before him and skimmed his fingertips against Hector’s scalp. The younger forgemaster quivered beneath his hands and hungrily panted for breath. Despite how tightly he was being held, Isaac would not be rushed. The scent of wine wafted from those cool lips and he chased its impure flavor by sinking into the warm wetness of Hector’s mouth. As thumbs brushed over the growing patches of red in that olive skin, Isaac drew an eager tongue toward himself and slowly milked it for the bitter traces of grapes. The vulgar sound of wet lips harmonized with the fire.

Hector hoisted himself up onto his altar and invited Isaac to step between open legs. Framing the other’s slim waist in hopes that he wouldn’t retreat and stop this deliciously slow torture, a heel hooked behind one of Isaac’s knees and held him. The room was too hot and Isaac was too covered up. Though he hated to separate, he broke their kiss to loosen the laces of his billowy shirt and immediately assigned nimble fingers to unhook Isaac’s tunic. It fit his broad chest so well that there was no spare fabric to grab and Hector had to pry the hooks open from the collar. Once the lapels were free, the forgemaster peeled them apart and laid heavy kisses to the hard muscle before him. He moved reflexively, gently stroking his tongue against the new canvas no different than he would have done had he been with a woman. Hector was also surprised to find that the chocolatey skin between Isaac’s raised scars was smooth to the touch, and he smelled like warm sandalwood. Intoxicating, calming, comforting. Drawing a deep breath of the man with eyes like fire, Hector pushed his clothing over his strong shoulders and down his long arms so his lips could climb unhindered to the valley of his throat.

All the while, Isaac stood patient and generous as Hector tasted his flesh. He only moved once to secure a small vial tucked away in an inner pocket of his tunic from falling to the floor and breaking. It was a simple mixture of olive, coconut, and other exotic oils known for their healing properties, but the recipe was perfected with Dracula’s aid. Because of that, it was precious to him, and applying it to his wounds after devotion was a ceremony all its own. He reached to place it safely onto the altar and shrugged out of his sleeves. The shock of cold air was brief, chased away by the roaming of Hector’s hands on his torso and breath against his throat. As if centering himself, Isaac drew in a long, slow breath and closed his eyes. His own hands blindly skated about Hector’s waist where his shirt met his trousers and idly went about the business of untucking the folds of fabric. As a spider’s agile legs weaved threads of its web, so, too, did Isaac’s fingers pull and glide against newly exposed patches of skin. Two fingers paired and bisected the younger man with a feather-light touch from the small of his back to the dip between his shoulder blades and up the back of his neck. The shudder that followed was punctuated by a bite as Hector sank his teeth into Isaac’s shoulder. Though he was spared no force, Isaac was undisturbed by the pain he should have felt. Pain was a part of his being.

Rather than wait to be released, the silent forgemaster hummed in the back of his throat and peered out of the windows to see snow whipped about by another strong wind. It was with this sight that he shifted forward and laid Hector onto the altar. The cool surface made his back arch but he was rewarded with the warmth of Isaac’s flat belly pressing him down. It felt good, and he quickly forgot the cold in favor of pulling the thick white material he wore over his head. Slung aside in a bundle, a stray sleeve knocked over the wine glass and it rolled slowly to the edge of the table before teetering over in a burst of shards. The fallen glass a representation of the last of his reservations, Hector gave himself over to Isaac and fully embraced him.

The buffet of skin before him was taut and nearly flawless, and Isaac lowered himself to devour it in mouthfuls. Hector was a bit wider and sturdier than him in frame, that fact deceptively hidden by the uniform he wore. His throat was long and strained as it turned both away and into Isaac’s teeth as he kissed and nipped his way over the thin flesh to an erect nipple. Denying it his attention, Isaac instead tasted the heat down the center of Hector’s chest and followed it to his belly. The jerky musculature belied the pleasure the forgemaster felt, and strong hands lowered not to guide Isaac but to track his course. Whatever direction Hector tried to give was a waste, for Isaac’s head was shaved and his intent for the other’s body would not be influenced.

Meanwhile, Hector’s eyes glazed over as he fixed them to the high ceilings and wavered between a drunken lust and Isaac’s very real presence on him. He didn’t know how far he’d allow this to go; his fingertips searched for the answer in the scars carved into Isaac’s skull. They told him nothing. The leg that bent and braced his foot against the edge of the altar only told him how hungry he was for contact-- something raw to pause the loneliness in the year of service to Dracula. Even if this was brief, it was something.

Where Hector’s mind searched for sense and comfort, Isaac’s was elsewhere, deep in a complex, contemplative space. He watched his own hands work, loosening trousers, tugging fabric, spreading strong but lean legs apart by the knees as if opening a book. And like a book, he read the body laid out before him. A finger skimmed over the carved out abdomen and deep navel, traced through the tuft of grey hair above Hector’s half-hard manhood, followed an invisible text tucked neatly in the valley where his hip joined his thigh. Yes, he read everything down to the smallest twitch of the other’s cock. He’d read so many books about anatomy and the workings of the human body that it was no longer a mystery to manipulate. It was his work to marry science with the darker arts and he did so when he bent to mouth Hector’s inner thigh. The skin was warm, perfumed with a heady mix of sweat and floral soap, and he stroked arcane circles and runes onto it with his tongue. Hector tensed and lifted toward his mouth, but Isaac’s broad hand pushed him back down like a fluttering piece of parchment.

“Mn…”, Hector moaned approvingly and licked his lips. The sound of his pounding heart deafened his ears and he cast an arm over his eyes to lose himself in fantasy. Blood rushing about in his veins made him light-headed as it was pulled down to his neediest parts. The claws of salacity raked down his body, leaving a searing heat in their wake. He needed her, the ‘her’ with a face he couldn’t think of. The ‘her’ that was shorter than he, with pouty lips and rosy cheeks and fair skin. Nameless though she was, just a figure in his mind’s eye, he felt her fingertips creep gently against the back of his thighs as her mouth worked toward the center of him. With another moan in the back of his throat, he praised the sinful lips that cupped his swelled sacks and the broad, hot tongue that laid flat strokes between them. Her too-large hand was deft as it wrapped around his base in pulsating squeezes and pushed the entire length of his sex back against his own stomach. The sensation was wonderfully strange, even more so when her thumb coaxed blood into the thick vein running up his shaft.

Hector softly cursed, writhing in impatience to feel the inside of her wrap around him and milk him long into the night. How long had it been since he’d seen a woman that wasn’t sickly and starving, afraid for her life, married, or eager to bleed him dry? He didn’t remember. There were very few pleasures to be had in these dark days. This woman, though, was a treat. She was silent and deliberate in her teasing, balancing wait with reward and keeping Hector in anticipation. She finally lifted her skirt and lowered herself onto the young forgemaster, and his tip sank into her waiting lips. Those lips…

Hector’s eyes shot open and he raised onto his elbows in shock. When he looked down between his legs, he saw no maiden. He saw Isaac. Head bowed and brow stern, a devil’s stare fixed on Hector. Maybe this was his limit; his image of a woman was shattered for good and there was no denying how far they both had gone.

“Wait! You don’t have to do this,” Hector insisted.

Uninterested in his late protests, the dark-skinned general flicked the head of Hector’s cock with his tongue and pressed the full of his lips against it. They were soft and wet now, and he opened them to feed Hector’s length halfway into his mouth. A dip of his head and a backward stroke of his fist clearly showed his intent despite Hector’s panic. There were more than enough advantages available to Hector right there on the stone slab: he had his fists, he possessed Isaac’s dagger, and his hammer was a mere reach away. Either could be wielded to bash the other’s skull in and to free himself from this situation. Isaac stalled even further by delivering a slow, hard suck backward until Hector left his mouth with a vulgar pop.

“I know,” Isaac said knowingly. Reading the growing tension in Hector’s body language, he gave an expectant look to the medicinal vial sitting between both their forging tools and glanced back at Hector.

Another opportunity to refuse. Hector didn’t take it. Instead he breathed heavily and wrestled with identifying what action was in his better judgement. He sniffed and ran a hand through his tousled hair to center himself, but all the while Isaac still palmed him and kept him erect with lips that followed the shape of his straining crown. A body was a body, a mouth was a mouth, and the result was pleasure all the same. The only one who could possibly understand him was Isaac. They were both monsters, as he said. Even the devils they pulled out of Hell and forged into bodies had no distinguishing genders or personal goals. They just _were_. If he could have no other happiness in life besides his work, then he would steal this moment, too. The strength of his own hands got him here and it would keep him here, alive and in command. He told himself that he was powerful. And with the insecurities of gender and impending death violently shoved aside, lust won out. The small vial was delicately handed to the other before Hector gathered the audacity to command Isaac by seizing his chin.

“I want to see you.” Hector reclined back onto the table on his elbows, reborn a new and indulgent devil. He gorged himself on the masculine curve of Isaac’s shoulders, the strong line of his nose and his jaw, and the beautiful thickness of his accent. He, like his master, was beautiful in his ruthlessness. Hector was admittedly glad that he was on the right side of it.

Though he did not reply, Isaac fully understood the vague language Hector used. Thinking him drunk on borrowed power or the wine he drank, the bent forgemaster complied. He worked the cork from the vial and the sweet aroma of coconut twisted up from its mouth. The vial itself was tilted and the thin liquid cascaded over Isaac’s poised fingers. The excess warmly dribbled onto Hector’s eager length or slid down his pubic bone. He felt the other watching him as he made a show of rolling the oil between his fingers and coating them until they glistened. Prolonging the satisfaction of his touch, Isaac made a slight opening in his fist and coaxed the head of Hector’s dick through it. Mimicking the penetration that the other envisioned, Isaac drove his hand all the way down to Hector’s base and tightened his grip before he slowly worked his way back up. His thumb and index finger circled tightly around the frenulum to keep the other’s attention, and he completed the stroke with a twist of his wrist. This drew a start from Hector’s chest and he grit his teeth. Isaac repeated the motions without much thought, instead taking specific note of the sensations that would make the other come undone on his own altar. Blasphemy was a fine spice for devils, after all.

Swallowing to wet his throat, Hector’s eyes went low and he bit his lip to keep his mouth occupied. This felt good, but it was too slow. He needed more. Hips pushing up into Isaac’s broad hand for more pressure, more speed, he let his head fall back in arousal. The rest of him lowered, too, and his back pressed against the slab that felt much warmer now. He absently writhed into the other’s ministrations and sighed into the night. Whatever Isaac read from the gesture was to his benefit, for he soon felt fingers fall in tandem against the stretch of skin behind his balls. A gentle pressure pulled all his attention there and he shuddered in appreciation. Those digits glided up to cup the heavy mounds and massaged them with care, and he ground his hips down into them.

“Isaac, please,” he said with a turn of his head and a hidden frustration that leaked out of the head of his cock. He wanted release. Pacified by that hand returning to stroke him properly, he made a motion to sit up and grab the other man but he was stopped short. Isaac had already slithered up the length of his body and trapped him where he lay. All the better. He didn’t have to wait anymore. Expressing his urgency, he closed his knees around the other’s narrow frame and thrust up into his palm. His own hands pulled Isaac into his mouth where he tasted himself and bit into the tender skin.

Isaac allowed his rough gestures but slowed when Hector got too wild. When the other calmed his frenzy, he sped up his pace and stroked him so sweetly that Hector could have perceived it as something sacred and tender. The contrast of sensations made him mad with arousal and equally uncertain what to do about it. But of course, Isaac understood this, too. He looked down at Hector and saw the indecision in his very physiology.

The young forgemaster’s skin couldn’t decide between being fair or dark, so it settled somewhere in between. His eyes couldn’t decide whether to be blue or green, so they paled from both and shifted between the two depending on the light. His wavy hair slipped between silver-grey in the daylight and ash in the evening. Even the sex they had now was a mix of hesitation and excitement, reluctance and blatant want. If his physical form wasn’t even steadfast, Isaac knew Hector’s will and loyalties were equally pliant. His warnings about maintaining a weak conviction were hidden in the way he sucked at Hector’s throat while he worked him wildly to the peak of his pleasure, then stopped to let him fall back into its valleys. The ebb and flow of fulfillment was his punishment. Isaac heard the pleading moans from Hector as arias of apology before any tresspasses were committed. Of course, he’d deal with any betrayal efficiently and quietly, and he expressed as much when he bit harshly into Hector’s shoulder.

The other hissed and bucked up into the pain, but not without bearing his own talons. He stroked Isaac’s back in the moments where he remembered he possessed hands, feeling about the numerous scars and trying to count them. They intrigued him since he’d never seen them before, much less this close. Hector couldn’t understand the pain Isaac subjected himself to for his faith, but he also wouldn’t disrespect it. Breathing heavily into the other man’s ear, he closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into the grooves of skin long thickened by time. He couldn’t discern the wounds from Isaac’s past from those that he inflicted on himself, but Hector added his own bit of story to them this way. It might have been his imagination, but he even thought he felt the other arch into his hands a little.

The burn of a necromancer’s hands could never compare to the bite of metal in his leather paddle, but the gesture was appreciated. For the effort made, Isaac would finish this, pull the single thread that would have this devil-forger fall apart. Bracing on his elbow, he pinned Hector to the forge and delivered short, quick strokes to the head of his cock. Focusing all of the pressure there, his palm worked once… twice down the thick shaft and his fingers spread to cup his balls. His ring and middle finger cleaved them in two, sliding between them to press into Hector’s perineum. Slipping just a little further back, they pushed up into the hot skin and rubbed deep, massaging circles against it.

“Hngh--! Shit...” That strong, foreign sensation made Hector jump violently but he had nowhere else to go. He could only curl around Isaac and grunt. Jolts of electricity made his limbs weak and fired off in every nerve in his body. The most satisfying was below, where he and Isaac were connected. It took all he had not to whimper for more, but he encouraged Isaac with a groan into his ear. That very same ear was taken between his teeth for a softer nibble and its shell stroked with the tip of his tongue.

Isaac turned his head toward it, but he separated himself from any pleasure. Held by the base of his neck and a hand flirting at the edge of his sash, he stared off into the empty space between them and merely listened to the young man near his deconstruction. Now that he’d deciphered the language that Hector’s body spoke, Isaac rhythmically pumped his fist and stayed true to the spells it revealed. He’d slow and quicken, adding an extra stroke to his shaft, or a few more seconds of pressure in that sweet and vulgar place that made Hector’s knees shake. The brief glance he’d stolen at the other from the corner of his eye was a mess of a man, face flustered, lips swollen, and delicate curls clinging to a sweat-laden brow and throat.

A pathetic sight, Isaac thought. His only act of pity toward Hector was to release him from his shambled state and leave him to the night where euphoria and shame battled each other to claim him. Shifting slightly so that they were chest to chest, the taller man peered down into those blue-green pools hazed over with need. His tight grip pulled at Hector’s erection, purposefully collecting the bitter mix of oil and seed onto his fingers on their way up. The length snapped wetly out of his palm and thudded against his stomach, making Hector swallow. Then Isaac struck.

His hand overturned and a sinfully long middle finger trailed down the tight stretch of skin once more, this time following it down to the dip of Hector’s entrance. The pucker tightened away from Isaac’s touch, and Hector tried to sit up in alarm.

“Isaac, no. Stop--” he began, breathlessly.

But Isaac didn’t stop. He received Hector’s protests with his mouth as it fell to cover those nervous lips. His free hand burrowed into that mane of ash and firmly grabbed it to keep Hector pinned. With a deep dive of his tongue, the intricate circles and shapes previously drawn between the other’s thighs were transferred to the soft lining of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth. Hector strained in discomfort, his fight distracted by how good it felt even as he tried to lift his hips and roll from beneath the devil-forger. That lift was all Isaac needed. His fingertip boldly penetrated the ring of muscle and sank easily into Hector’s body with the other’s momentum. Hector gasped, chest heaving against Isaac’s as his heels dug into the edge of the table.

In his mind, if he could just get enough purchase, he could slide far enough away from the invasion.

The very gesture was for naught. Isaac gently hooked his finger upward and pressed into something that stuttered Hector’s breath. In contrast to the panicked man, Isaac spoke calmly against his lips and offered peace-- a promise of pleasure-- if he simply obeyed.

“Endure it.” The soft enunciation in that dignified accent was a sweet and potent poison he spooned to Hector. The digit buried inside of him hooked again, asking for compliance with firm but slow strokes to the ball of nerves beneath it. Isaac slowly fed that pleasure to this cornered beast and took him down with another press of his lips until he understood.

By no means was it easy to accept. Hector was still tense and disliked the vision of himself caught in this alien act. There was something, though, that shackled him to the slab. It wasn’t any chain, or collar, or fear of punching Isaac in the face. It was a different force: loneliness. He _liked_ being alone and thought there was a clear difference between it and being lonely, but there wasn’t. One always crept behind the other, and loneliness was powerful. The venom Isaac fed him relieved him of both, even if only temporary. He grew drunk on it and felt the strength in his shoulders give. Jarred by the quick pulsations of Isaac’s finger, he looped an arm around the other’s neck and seized his neglected cock. Matching the other forgemaster’s speed, Hector stroked himself and obeyed.

Endure? Was that all he had to do? So be it. His mind went empty and he voiced his pleasure unabashedly to the ceiling. If the vampires heard, let them hear. They were terrible creatures no different than he, and he would embrace the black skies as they did. Lip curled up in a snarl, he focused on the churning heat in his belly threatening to erupt out of him. The entirety of his body was scorching and he reflexively pushed down into the warmth of Isaac’s hand to gain his sense. He achieved quite the opposite, however.

All sense fled him when his back straightened in climax. Hot seed painted both his and Isaac’s stomach, and he recoiled from the finger that still stirred his insides. Enjoyment became over-stimulation and he involuntarily came in another delayed spurt onto the very altar he laid upon. Desperate to bask in his high, Hector grabbed Isaac’s wrist and pulled it away from himself. Now that he was free, his head lolled to one side so he could watch the fire across the way. He was unaware that an arm heavy with fatigue still draped across the other’s neck until Isaac slowly withdrew from him like the great devil he was. Neither spoke, and for a moment the upright forgemaster only stared down at him.

What could either of them say? ‘Thank you?’ Complain about being pushed further than what was expected? A complement of skill? Should they share a passionate kiss in the cooling embers of lust? No, nothing seemed to fit in the space between them except silence itself.

Isaac recorked his vial and safely tucked it into the folds of his sash as he unhurriedly straightened it back onto his waist. In that time, Hector dragged himself upright and surveyed the unusually milky stains on himself, on Isaac’s clothes, on the surface he sat upon. He groaned and ran a slick hand through his hair again. Eyes cast to the floor, he attempted to assess the state of Isaac’s arousal, but the whole of him was hidden behind the long, heavy fabric of his tunic. Before he could offer reciprocal favors, he was rebuffed by Isaac claiming his dagger and slipping it into another fold of his sash at the small of his back. The rest of him remained undressed and he broke the silence first.

“Cleanse your altar. It is a holy space.” An unsullied finger reached out to peel a tendril of hair away from Hector’s cheek and a palm laid flat against his jaw. Hector ever so slightly turned into it, the piercing teal of his eyes peering past his dark lashes.

Hector wanted to speak, but his voice was ragged. Instead he turned his lips into the retreating fingers, prolonging the tender way they brushed against his mouth as they left him. As quietly as he had arrived, Isaac took his leave in shadow and dignified silence. Hector watched his brutalized back retreat and found the beauty in its strength. He, too, had left his mark there and took pride in however long it would last. Only when the forgemaster’s shadow disappeared from the room entirely did he embrace his release in the lingering smell of sex, wine, and wood.

Though his face betrayed little of the way his mind furiously worked inside his skull, Isaac’s brow furrowed. He learned of many things from what transpired between himself and Hector: doubts, uncertainties, weakness of will. Dangerous things, if left unchecked, in one with Hector’s talents.

He would go to his lab chambers after all and purge his body of the impurities he forced upon it. His mind needed to be quieted and refocused as well. Through his devotion, he found the greatest clarity and the greatest peace. Stepping into the dim light of his space, Isaac ceremoniously lifted his spiked leather strap from the wall with both hands and stared at it in brief reverence. Asking it to forgive his trespasses so that he might be closer to He who was wise, and to better serve his master, Isaac took a seat upon a low set of stairs. Fingers secure around the braided handle, he exhaled and stared into the beyond far past the castle walls in meditation. His final thought was that once Dracula’s plans were complete, and the world in flames from his rightful vengeance, only ash and stone would still remain after the embers went cold.

Then the leather cut the air with a whistle and drove its spikes into his back.

**Author's Note:**

> The characters and images in this work are exclusively the property of their original creators and Netflix. I do not own them.
> 
> This piece of fiction was inspired by the image above.


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